Calling All Angels
by Isis915
Summary: This fic is about Foreman and his past leading up to his present. BUZKILL BUNNY PLEASE READ CH 6 Thank you :
1. Calling All Angels

I need a sign to let me know you're here  
All of these lines are being crossed over the atmosphere  
I need to know that things are gonna look up  
'Cause I feel us drowning in a sea spilled from a cup

When there is no place safe and no safe place to put my head  
When you feel the world shake from the words that are said

I need a sign to let me know you're here  
'Cause my TV set just keeps it all from being clear  
I want a reason for the way things have to be  
I need a hand to help build up some kind of hope inside of me

As I sit and listen to the white boy singing about finding safety in the world, I remember my past. I prayed often, as if my life depended on it. I shared those feelings with those white boys. I remember those feelings because I still feel them to this day. If only anyone knew how many times I considered ending it all due to lack of hope. I thought for years that there was nothing worth living for. There was little chance that I would make anything of myself. I could see the people around me and how they turned out; oh yes, I was very keen of how life was for us. We were a family, a neighborhood, and a way of life. We lovingly and spitefully named our habitat the ghetto. It's funny how we could hate it so much until an outsider attacked us. Our guard would go up and suddenly, we were proud of our lives, of our rundown homes, of our prostitute mothers and sisters, of our barely employed fathers, of our delinquent, gun carrying children …of our ghetto.

In my ghetto, there was no getting out. You were born, raised and died in the same household. The neighborhood hero was a rapper named Tiny; he beat the odds and moved across town to pursue his career. Last I heard, he was killed in a drive by. We all had dreams of getting out. Some would do anything it took to get out: sell drugs, sell bodies, and even kill. Most of those people just ended up in prison; we heard it was almost better than home. We all did the best we could. It's funny how the honest workers suffered more than the felons. My family was a testament to that.

My mother worked at a small grocery store and my father worked at a tire factory. I can remember the smell of rubber on his hands and clothes when he came home every night. Both my parents dropped out of high school to raise their family. I had two older brothers before me. The poor souls, they worked harder than anyone I've ever met. My mother would take on double shifts and my father would work as much overtime as possible, and yet, we still barely made ends meet. My parents were hardly home and I was raised by my brothers. I don't hold it against them, I know the only reason they were never home was so we could survive. The neglect was unintentional; all they wanted to do was love us.

I can remember the day I told my parents I wanted to be a doctor. I was about 12 years old and free to dream. Although I was oblivious to it then, I can remember the look of deep regret and pain masked by a hopeful smile upon my mother's face. She sighed deeply and patted my head. She said, "Eric, you can be whatever you want to be if you work hard enough." Somehow, she knew what she said was true and false at the same time. I don't think she ever honestly believed in her statement. Deep down she was probably praying I would change my mind. She didn't want to see me get disappointed. Both of my brothers had been big dreamers as well. Rodney wanted to be a lawyer and William wanted to work with computers. Sadly, both dropped out of high school and ended up in prison for a short time. They both joined my father at the tire factory, where they continue to work to this day. I was lucky; I had my lucky break, but I went through hell to get it. Most people don't know my story; I'd rather not relive it out loud, though I dream about it every night.

"Hey Foreman! Lunch is over, mind doing your job? And no, I don't mean stealing a car. There's a sick patient that needs a Lumbar Puncture stat, oh yea, and you need to break into his house; the git is lying to me about something. And get rid of those shoes, only I can have them." The voice of my boss, Dr. House wakes me from my reverie. Miserable man; and he thinks his life has been rough. I mimic him in my mind often, "Oh I'm so miserable, I lost muscle in my leg and my girlfriend left me. I'm just going to be a cynical jerk and hate everyone." He wouldn't make it one day in my neighborhood, though he could probably make a decent living selling all his Vicodin. Dr. House doesn't even know my past. He likes to tease me about being a law breaking black kid, but he really does assume I grew up in a middle class, happy family. It's kinda ironic really. I wonder if he would feel guilty if I told him that I had grown up in a ghetto. Probably not; he would give one of those "I'm learning from your life lessons" looks and then forget it 5 minutes later. That man is a brick wall.

I do the Lumbar procedure, one of my least favorites. Even the strongest of men whimper at the touch of the needle.

I put my jacket on (it's fricken cold outside) as I get ready to raid a man's home. I was told to bring Dr. Cameron with me. Fragile doll-she's my little white sister. She knows my story, well parts of it; I don't think she could handle the whole truth. She always gets nervous right before a break-in. Good thing my brothers taught me how to pick a lock and stay calm. I sigh as we get into my Lexus; if only they could see me now. This car cost more than my childhood home. As Cameron reads off the man's address, I slump in my seat. It's in my old neighborhood on the other side of the county; ok so they might just see me now. It's going to be one of those days.


	2. Who's Got My Back Now?

Hey everyone, this chapter was very difficult to write because I had to write in the perspective of a man. From what I assume of men, they dont like describing deep emotions or going into details. I had to portray this quality and so most of his story here will be left up to your imagination (at least the details.)

Chapter 2 "Who's got my back now?"

Who's got my back now?  
When all we have left is deceptive  
So disconnected  
So what is the truth now?

The drive to my neighborhood is long and heartbreaking. I really don't want to go back there. I pick at the scar on my wrist, it's a nervous twitch. No one knows how I got the scar; I don't think many people know I even have it. Why do I feel so sad now? Dr. Cameron, being the perceptive munchkin she is, notices my discomfort and questions me. "Eric, what's wrong?" At first, I shrug my shoulders; she doesn't want to know my past. Of course, she is persistent. "Come on Eric, if it's a long story, we have time, it's about an hour drive." Fine, she really wants to know, and I guess I would like to get it off my chest. I tell her my story and she listens intently.

Since the age of 12, I had been convinced that I wanted to be a doctor. No one had made it that far in life from my neighborhood. I was just another kid, high on the dreams of life that would never happen. I did more than dream, I lived it. I'd use my school Biology book and Anatomy book to help injured animals I found. Granted, they usually died; I don't think I understood the difference between a cat and a human just yet. Apparently, open heart surgery while the cat is still awake was wrong. I can't help but still feel a pang of remorse whenever I see a cat. Probably why I don't have any pets now. Ok, I'm getting off topic. Everyone thought my interest in medicine was "cute," but not likely to get me anywhere.

By the time I reached 10th grade, I was pretty sure I'd never make it to college. Only about 40 of graduates from my high school made it to college; the percentage that actually made it passed their first year was much lower. I was aware of the financial state of my family and I knew no amount of scholarships would get me through Med School. Still, I took all the science classes I could while in high school. Why not milk the free schooling for all it was worth? Being a student in a high dropout, low budgeted school, it was pretty easy to be the top of my class. The majority of my peers were into sports or drugs and thievery.

My brothers always had my back. It's amazing that with all the fighting that went on in the ghetto, it was hardly ever between siblings. We were bound together by some intangible chains. I taught them about science when they were interested and in turn, they taught me how to break into homes; lucky me. Every week we would break into a white man's home on the richer side of town. We would map it all out on paper and hide it in case our parents found them. Unlike most parents, they frowned upon delinquency, even for the better good of the family. The one week I chose not to participate, was the week they were caught and sent to prison for a short time. I hated not having them around.

They were gone for almost 2 years. All I did for 2 years was sit in my room and study. I was a senior in high school and my years of knowledge were almost over. I figured I could probably get into a community college with some scholarships and be able to get my AA degree. However, the nearest college was 13 miles away and our family couldn't afford the transportation. My mother was deeply saddened by my misfortune. I could tell she wanted to see me succeed; she even worked more if it were possible out of guilt. It was nothing compared to the guilt I feel today. I still shudder at the distant memory of that night.

As predicted, I graduated top of my class. It was bitter sweet, and it was all over. It was time to work at the factory. My brothers were home and they could sense my unhappiness. For weeks into that summer, they avoided me. I didn't know why, but I was too deep in my own world of self pity to care. Whenever I would enter the room, they would stop talking and look away. I knew they were up to something, but like I said, I just didn't care. It was probably some crazy scheme that would land them back in prison- and I wasn't far off.

One night, as I sat alone in our room, I noticed a map drawn out by hand of someone's home. I hadn't seen this one before so I picked it up out of curiosity. The title said, "Dr. Maslow's home." My heart sank. They were planning to break into the home of the richest man in town. They were crazy. This was going to be the most dangerous stunt they ever pulled. I had to confront them about it. I found Rodney and told him what I knew. He sighed deeply as he explained to me why they were going to do it.

"Eric, you're a special kid. You have the potential of 100 gangsters. I just know that if we succeed in this heist, we could get you into college. It may not last the whole million years, but it would get you started. We wanted this to be a surprise. Mom and Dad will be furious, but we can take the heat. Just don't tell ok?" I was absolutely raged and thankful at the same time. They were going to get caught and probably shot. Everyone knew Dr. Maslow had guard dogs and loaded weapons in his home. I insisted that I should be a part of the raid. I was convinced that they would need me. It took days of pleading, but they finally allowed me to come. So it was set, that night, we would go down in history for attempting the biggest robbery in town. As I look back on it now, I'm reminded of "Ocean's Eleven" and "Ocean's Twelve." If the result hadn't been so grim, I might find the audacity to laugh.

I was supposed to be in charge of hiding the map that night. And til my dying day, I will always regret not finding a better spot for it. After we had snuck out the window that night, my parents found it. It was just before midnight, as we were huddled behind some bushes discussing last minutes details that it happened. My parents, in a screaming plea showed up from no where. To say the least, they caused a scene. I don't know if it was fear or the not wanting to get caught, but we remained in the bushes. The whole neighborhood seemed to awaken. Porch lights flickered on and women in long nightgowns appeared behind black screens. This was bad. All these white people saw were a couple of crazy black people on Dr. Maslow's yard screaming. Someone called that cops and the sirens were heard miles down the road.

My brothers and I watched in horror as Dr. Maslow himself appeared at his doorway, armed with the biggest gun I'd ever seen. The man didn't even hesitate. 2 loud shots rang out and the screaming ended abruptly. So did our lives as we knew it, at least mine did. My brothers remained in our home and continued working the factory. They never broke into another house again and as far as I know, they still haven't. I don't know what did it for me, but I was overcome with a powerful urge to work my way through college. I was going to do it for them. I killed them in my weak attempt to cheat my way through life. I learned that night that only hard work would truly bring happiness.

I could go on and deeper into details, but I don't think either Cameron or myself could handle it. Just wordlessly reliving my parents slowly fall to their deaths is hard enough, if I speak of it, I might breakdown.

In my lifetime when I'm disgraced  
By jealousy and lies  
I laugh aloud 'cause my life  
Has gotten inside someone else's mind

The rest of the ride is in silence. I don't think Cameron was ready to hear that. I look over and see a single tear roll down her cheek. I didn't tell her how I felt about that night, but I think she knows exactly how I feel. Knowing her ultra sensitivity, she probably found a way to feel just as guilty as I do.

I look down at my exposed wrist. I rarely have it out in the open. I cut myself that night. How better to take out your remorse than hurt yourself? I would have gone all the way. I don't think William knows how grateful I am that he walked into the bathroom at that moment.

I left that place only months after it happened. I couldn't live in that haunted hell. I could feel the souls of my parents wandering through the halls screaming, "Why Eric? Why?" I shudder again, but blame the cold. I left that neighborhood and haven't looked back. My brothers haven't heard from me in almost 10 years. Will they even recognize me? I almost wonder if they hate me now. Will they join the mob that circles around my Lexus as I park outside that man's home?

Who's got my back now?


	3. Just Breathe

Hey all, here is the next chapter. It may or may not be as good as the others. I had a hard week and I tried to put my emotions in words and in the perspective of Foreman. I don't know if I succeeded. Please don't be too harsh on me. I tried. It's just been a horrible week for me, but I won't go into details.

Chapter 3: Just Breathe

There's a light at each end of this tunnel,  
You shout 'cause you're just as far in as you'll ever be out  
And these mistakes you've made, you'll just make them again  
If you only try turning around

I pull into my old neighborhood. Nothing has changed in 10 long years. I feel sad to see all these people, living exactly the same. The only indication that time hasn't stopped is the tired and aged look in many familiar faces I knew as a kid. My heart sinks. Dear God, I really don't want to be here. I look over at my colleague and I see fear on her face. She is tense; can't say I blame her. Not many white people venture this deep into the ghetto, especially women.

I see curious eyes following us down the street. They must be really confused by the Lexus. I imagine it's like a wild animal seeing a human for the first time- scared yet curious. I drive slowly; I don't want to stir the beasts. I look in my rear view mirror and see some hunters on the prowl- damn. Cameron notices also. "Eric, we're gonna get shot aren't we?" I try to laugh at her comment and shrug. Yea it's so funny isn't it?

I look down the street and my old home looms in the not so far distance. Suddenly, years of memories flood back: Learning to ride a bike with my brothers behind me; late nights of midnight tag with the neighborhood kids; group gatherings of teenage rap wars; the occasional summer night BBQ. Yea, there were some happy times, but I think we were all in denial just trying to do our best. Then I think of that night again and the screams of my parents and the sudden silence ring in my ears.

I feel tears form behind my eyes, but I do not cry. I've cried too many times over this. There is nothing left. I'm empty.

As I drive by the old house I notice how depressed it looks. The fence is a very dirty white, the ceiling is caving in and the grass is dead. On the raggedy porch, I see two familiar faces sitting together. I think they recognize me as well. If they did, I don't like the looks on their faces. I see hatred and pain in their features. What I wouldn't give to just flip a U-turn right now and high-tail it out of here. As I pass the next few houses, I see the two men stand up and walk to the gate. They watch me drive. They see the crowd coming and they join. Wonderful.

Finally, our goal is in sight. I pull up to the home that looks eerily like my old home. It too is in pretty bad shape. The siding is falling off and there are broken windows. I park in his driveway, it's not going to help me much, but I find more comfort in a driveway than the street. I kill the ignition and look over at her. She seems to be breathing heavy. "You ready to get this over with?" She looks over me with teary eyes. "Can I stay in the car?" I laugh at her. "And you think you're safer in here than out there? They don't give a damn about car alarms. That doesn't stop them." I lean over and open the glove compartment. A black gun falls into the palm of my hand. I haven't forgotten ghetto life. She looks at me even more terrified. I try to reassure her with a smile. "We will be fine. They probably just want to look. Don't make eye contact unless they speak and stay close to me ok?" I hope I helped, but honestly, I'm not exactly bodyguard material. Maybe I will join a gym after this.

She hesitates as I place the gun in my pocket. We sit in silence as the crowd gathers. We are about to break into a home with 20 witnesses. Thank you Dr. House. I can tell she wants to leave and not even get out of the car. We have come too far now. I unlock the doors and her breathing seems to stop. Our safety is gone. I tell her to just breathe. I open the door and am caught off guard with the cold air. It almost takes my breath away.

I walk over to the passenger side and open it for her. I can tell she is trying to mentally prepare herself. It's now or never. I grab her arm gently and prop her up. She can't show weakness in front of these people. They will take advantage. I think she gets the hint from my gesture and surprises me as she takes control of herself well. She puts her hands in the wool pockets of her long jacket. I don't even bother to set the alarm on the car. That would be an insult in front of all of their faces. I guide her to the front door and the crowd is painfully silent. There are not utters of disbelief or anger. This worries me.

I begin picking the lock and it seems to be taking forever. My heart begins beating faster as I get desperate to get it over with. I begin stumbling over my swollen fingers. This is so frustrating. Suddenly a voice from the crowd reaches my cold ears. "Eric Foreman? Is that you?" I look up and see my brother Rodney in the front of the crowd with William just behind him. I nod my head; I won't lie. There is a slight gasp from the others. Oh yes, they remember me now.

I wasn't expecting a happy homecoming, but this isn't what I wanted. I wanted to see them angry with me. I wanted to see pure hate, at least then I could understand. What I got were looks of pain on the faces of everyone. Everyone looks at me like a sick animal. Some look at me like an alien, as if they don't know me. Perhaps they don't. William barely audibly mutters my name and I hear a voice from the back ask loudly, "Is that the Foreman Traitor?" I see many nodding heads and it hurts. But then I saw the heads of my brothers nod in unison as they pierce me with their gaze.

My heart stops.

Just breathe.


	4. Broken

ok everyone, here it is. I'm not thrilled with it, but it's been the best thing I could come up with in a long time. Hope you like it. Please don't be too harsh in your reviews. I've had a really bad week.

Chapter 4: Broken

'Cause I'm broken  
I know I need you now  
'Cause deep inside I'm broken  
You see the way I live  
I know your heart is broken  
When I turn away  
I need to be broken  
Take the pain away

I look at my brothers in wonder and confusion. Traitor? Cameron has gone completely stiff. Everyone is against us and we aren't sure why. I don't want to deal with this now; way too many emotions and memories have washed over me and I feel sick. I look down at my feet which are being protected by shoes from Hugo Boss. Yeah, I paid $500 for shoes. I better not let anyone around know that. My eyes dart back up to those of William. I see hurt and rage; why? Dare I ask? Could it be jealousy? I don't want to start anything so I turn back towards the door. I breathe in the cold air and calm my racing heart before it explodes in my chest. It's so much easier to pick a lock when you're calm.

Ah, finally. Cameron ducks into the house nanoseconds after the door is cracked open. I can't help but stifle a small laugh. As I stand up to walk in, a voice from the crowd sounds out. "You do know you just broke into one of our friend's home with all of us watching right? Or do you think you're so much better than us that it's ok? Why would someone of your stature even be breaking into a house in the ghetto?" I turn around and try to smile. "I'm a doctor and this man is my patient. I'm looking for some clues into what could be making him sick. Asking him for his house key wouldn't be as much fun. As you can tell, my partner in there was just thrilled to do this my way." Was that my best attempt at sarcasm? Good God. And they say I'm like House. Give me a few days when this is all over and something much better will pop into my head.

I turn my back on the crowd and join my companion in the house. What a mess. Cameron has already begun her search. She obviously wants to get out of here as quickly as possible. I can hear her in the kitchen, rummaging through the drawers. After about 10 seconds there is a silence. I hear a gasp of breath and I swear I can hear her heart beating loud from her chest. At this point, not a whole lot is going to shock me, so I walk slowly into the kitchen. She stands there looking at the contents of a drawer. Her mouth is agape and her eyes are unflinching.

I walk up from behind her and I gaze over her shoulder. The sight doesn't surprise me, but it's quite sad. Within this big drawer is a crack pipe, crack, lighters, a gun and a bloody knife. I'm going to assume this man killed for his drugs. Couldn't he have at least cleaned the knife? That's perfect evidence. This guy may be mean, but he isn't the smartest crack addict I've met. I can feel Cameron trembling with fear. I can tell her eyes have closed as she speaks. "Eric, get me out of here please. I don't care what House says. He can fire me if he wants to, but I want out..now." I understand her fear, but I can't help but feel bitter towards her. I roll my eyes and reply, "You think just visiting is scary? Try growing up with this all around you. Every day of my life I saw blood." She turns around and stares into my eyes. I really wish she wouldn't do that. "How could you do this Eric? How can anybody…" She goes silent. I know what she was trying to say. She is playing her pity role nicely. Sometimes she is too sincere. I wish she could accept that the world is not a nice place and there are dangers everywhere.

We stand silently for awhile before I finally wake from this nightmare-ish daze. This was a mistake. We should not be here. I never wanted to come back here again. I grab her arm gently and pull her away from the drawer. She softly shuts it as she follows me out. I look out the window before we leave. I want to see if the crowd has dissipated. Of course not; it's bigger. Just great. There is a crowd of teenagers surrounding my car. Don't touch it! I see a few boys looking through the tinted windows, hoping to get a good look at the leather interior and the nice stereo system. I'm gonna get ripped off in my own neighborhood.

I direct Cameron back outside into the blistering cold. It's time to get the hell out of here. The crowd redirects its attention back at us. More blank stares and angered faces. I wonder why they hate me so much. When and how did I become a notorious legend? I calmly walk out to my car as the crowd parts to let us through. Hey, they're being quite nice about this. They're probably too scared of what would happen if they attacked two doctors- one being an innocent white girl.

I open Cameron's door for her and I make sure she gets in safely. I can almost sense her breathing a deep sigh of relief the second I shut the door. As I walk around the front of the car, a voice from the past rings through the crisp air to my ears. "Eric? Is it really you?" I turn around and I see a woman making her way through the crowd. I didn't think it was possible for my heart to actually stop beating for that long and still live. She hasn't changed a bit in 10 years. Granted, she looks tired and overworked, but she is still beautiful. I tried to forget about her over the years, but somehow her memory had often shone vividly in my dreams.

I try to speak, but my words are stuttered and clumsy. I have so much to say to her, but I can't say anything. I stand and stare in remembrance. Eventually the only word that escapes my mouth is her name. "Nikki?" She slightly smiles and nods her head. The crowd is getting rowdy again. "Leave traitor!"

I do the only thing I can do; the only thing I know how to do.

I run away.

As we speed far away from my childhood, Cameron breaks the silence. "Who was that girl?" I can't talk about this now. I pretend I don't hear her and she takes the hint. I drive along with memories flooding my vision. My past is coming back to haunt me.

I try to find a better life  
Somewhere far away from here  
But I need you to believe in me

But I won't be afraid  
Just because you don't need me  
I will not be ashamed  
Just because you don't believe in anything that I say  
Now I turn and I walk away from you

I won't fade away  
I won't fade away again


	5. Gone

Ok everyone. I finally have CH. 5 up! Sorry about taking so long. I've had 2 deaths in the family and my stepfather was just diagnosed with terminal cancer. Its been a bad summer and I cant wait for it to be over. Thank God for work to keep me busy and college starting next week...so let me know what you think. Again, don't be too harsh, even with writing as once of my majors, it has been very difficult the past few weeks. Thanks again :)

Chapter 5: "Gone"

Sometimes shattered  
Never open  
Nothing matters  
When you're broken  
That was me whenever I was with you  
Always ending  
Always over  
Back and forth, up and down like a rollercoaster  
I am breaking

A week has passed since that day. The wounds are still fresh. I think House knew the whole time that neighborhood was mine. He has tried to bring it up many times now, with that damned arrogant smirk on his face. I hate it when he butts in our lives. So here I am again, another day of the hell I call work. How can I respect a man so much and yet glare daggers at him whenever I see him? Then there's Cameron, his favorite target. She flutters her eyelashes at him and giggles like a schoolgirl. She really has issues. Does she enjoy being brought down? Probably some white girl fetish I don't know about.

As I sit here drinking my coffee, my mind wonders back to that face. It's been 10 years since I looked into those eyes. I saw it all- excitement, fear, love, pain. She always did wear her heart on her sleeve when she was with me. She was tough as nails with strangers and neighbors. But I always saw something more than a tough ghetto girl. She had let me in, and I left her. I had asked her to come with me, but she wouldn't leave her home. I'll never understand her pride for that place. I could have given her everything she ever wanted: A nice home, beautiful children, a steady income, a nice car. I could have given her the American Dream. Is the dream different for black people? What did I miss?

I look up at the red digital clock as 8:00 flashes up. Just like clockwork, everyone piles into the room for the morning meeting. Second best part of the day right behind differential diagnosis time. 10 minutes pass by as Cameron and Chase discuss some TV show I've never heard of. House should be here soon. After another 5 minutes the 2 girls run out of things to talk about and we all sit in silence as we sip our coffee. Finally, the familiar clicking of wood on tile can be heard down the hall. Here he comes, God's big joke to the world. Dr. House enters almost with a skip in his step. Something good is on his mind. I hope it isn't about me today.

"Good morning all you happy people! Cuddy was nice enough to give us all a full 8 hours of clinic duty! I begged her for some overtime, but she just wasn't having it. I think her monthly friend is visiting. So Chase, you get all the old, whiny men complaining of rectal problems; Cameron, I will humor you and give you the children." Chase and Cameron eye each other before looking at me. What pleasures do I get today? Cameron is the first to speak up. "Um Dr. House, what about Eric?" House almost rolls his eyes at the girl. "Oh dear! I missed a member of the family! I'm sorry Foreman, I just don't love the middle child as much. You know how it goes." I give a sarcastic smirk; I so didn't see one of those comments coming. House dismisses the rest of the team as I remain in my seat. I've long since been intimidated by this man.

He paces around the room if it's possible, I guess more like staggers. I have a feeling he is ready to confront me about last week. I'm like a brick wall, he can't get to me. Suddenly, he stops right in front of me and grabs my arm. "What the hell!" Then it hits me; I had been nervously picking at that damned scar! I wonder if I have been doing that for awhile without knowing it. He looks me straight in the eyes. That's one thing about him that I respect; he has balls. "So did a break in go bad?" He is trying to get to me. I pull my arm out of his grasp and he straightens up his posture. He won, he got my attention. "It's none of your business House." He sighs, "You think that is gonna stop me? I'm nosey, it's part of my charm. So was it a white guy's house?" Ok, he got to me. "What makes you think it has anything to do with my past?"

Great. He looks guilty now. "I read into your file. I knew you grew up in that neighborhood you and Cameron got to visit last week. I know you have a rocky past. Besides, you made it soo obvious and tempting for me since you have been scratching and picking at that thing ever since. Can't say that I've ever seen you play around with it before. Face it; something happened in that ghetto- Something that has made you great. Something that has damaged you. You shouldn't run away from it or let it haunt you. You should be able to drive through that neighborhood and fling your feces in their faces. So now…how did you get the scar?" Now I'm just pissed off. This man had no right to look into my history. He has no right to sit here and tell me what I should and should not feel. He doesn't know me! If I could wring his neck I would. Instead, I stand up to face him directly. "My past is none of your concern. Stay out of my life House." I see a smile spread across his gruff features. "So, it WAS a robbery then? Did someone die?" How can he read into thing like that? I glare at him with the worst thug face I can conjure up. What is his issue? "Why are you doing this? What does it matter?" Suddenly the smirk is wiped away from his lips. He looks down at the floor for a second before looking back into my eyes. Damn his assertive nature. He speaks in his serious, low monotone voice.

"Gun shot victim, 35 year old black male. Name, William Foreman."

The only thing I can think of to say blurts out. "You Bastard." I don't remember how I got there, but within seconds I found myself in the Emergency Room. I don't care what happened right now, I just want to make sure he is stable. I can't lose my brother without saying goodbye first. For a brief moment, a question pops into mind. Why did they bring him here? The house is an hour away and there is another hospital closer to the neighborhood. I quickly push it from my mind. It doesn't matter unless he dies from blood loss. Then I will raise some hell.

As I open the door into the waiting room, I catch a glimpse of someone that makes me stop right in my tracks. I see my brother cradling a small figured woman who is crying into his shoulder. My brother makes eye contact with me and I don't know what I read from his gaze. I can tell he has tightened up as the woman suddenly looks my way. There she is. Her mascara is running down her beautiful cheeks and her long black hair is a mess. Even upset, she is the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on. Without hesitation, she ripped out of Rodney's grasp and ran towards me. She buries her head deep into my chest and lets out a heart breaking cry. I'm in shock. I don't know what to think or do. At this point it doesn't matter. She is in my arms again and our painful story comes back into mind full blast.

I wrap my arms around her shoulders and try to provide some comfort. She must have seen it happen. I push back some hair and whisper into her ear, "It's going to be ok Nikki. I'll make sure he lives. I promise." At the sound of my voice, I feel her tremble in my grasp as she cries even deeper. There's more to this story.


	6. Just a sidenote to Buzkill Bunny

Just a note to Buzzkill Bunny:

Wow, I was wondering when I would get a review from you. I was a little nervous about it because I have read some of your other reviews and they were pretty harsh. To say the least, I was relieved to read yours. Thank you for not chewing me up and spitting me out. It's nice to hear that I still have some kind of skill even when I'm stressed beyond belief. Even if you hadn't liked it at all, it wouldn't have bothered me. Fanfiction and other writing is my stress reliever, sharing it with others is just a bonus. A lot of the personal thoughts and feelings Foreman feels in my fic is how I have been feeling all summer. I've lost a lot of friends and family this summer and it has taken its toll on me. So thank you for not tearing me apart.

As far as the portrayal of the ghetto, I'm getting reference help from a friend on the House, M.D. forum in which I am also posting this story. She grew up and went to school in a ghetto neighborhood, so that's just what I am gonig off of. I got the idea for this story when a debate sparked up about Foreman's real past. Did he really grow up in the ghetto or did he grow up ina nice middle class neigborhood? Seeing as how I'm a white girl from the middle of nowhere, Washington, I have no expereince in those types of environments, so I'm just going off of what my friend is sharing with me. Seeing as how this is total fiction, I don't really mind if my stories are 100 percent acurrate or not...even the show House is not even 50 percentaccurate with its medical jargon.

Again, thank you for the review; being a college student, I enjoy some feedback from an experienced teacher. It's nice to know someone as educated as you appreciates what I am writing. Now I will stop rambling. :)


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